


Misery

by beekeepercain



Series: In Fewer Words [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angels, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Panty Kink, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The honest story of his life, spanning from two hours ago up to this moment, in which he felt cold and ashamed and aroused and drunk. Misery tasted like cheap whiskey and tears."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery

**Author's Note:**

> I had this irrelevant vision of Dean sitting on a motel bed wearing only a pair of panties, surrounded by cold light, and it was so artistic like a short movie I just couldn't resist. Whoops.
> 
> Skye's [Not Broken](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwuuuaKlXJ4) is semi-relevant to this fic.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Beyond the drunken state of mind, Dean felt ashamed. He knew it like he knew that outside, it was snowing again, even with his back turned towards the window. The cold light in the cold air in the cold room felt even colder than the shade felt against his washed, naked skin. He reached for the glass of whiskey and drank. He filled the glass again and drank.  
His horizon flooded.

This was about as low as he was willing to sink. He'd considered jumping off a highway overpass, but that was pathetic and he was not pathetic. So instead, he'd returned to his car and driven to a motel, booked a room, brought in booze, stripped naked, showered, pulled on a pair of satin panties and sat on the bed. That was the honest story of his life, spanning from two hours ago (nearly precisely 120 minutes had passed since) up to this moment, in which he felt cold and ashamed and aroused and drunk.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Misery. Misery tasted like cheap whiskey and tears. He'd only physically tasted one of those, but the price of his whiskey was questionable. He'd picked the first he'd reached for. His mouth was too numb to taste how it was. So was the taste in his mouth tears?  
His fingertip brushed past his cheek.

It was the whiskey.

Drawing in breath, he shook and wrapped an arm around his body, wishing he was warm. He didn't want the blanket. He didn't want clothes. He wanted to feel like he was worth someone's attention, that he was... important. And he was drunk. He was _still_ drunk.  
He breathed out. Then his breathing halted, and cold washed throughout his veins. His head jerked up - he wouldn't be able to take back the name he'd accidentally whispered. He pulled his legs up on the bed and felt his ears turning to pick up sounds. Any sounds. The air conditioning hummed somewhere.  
Then it happened.  
He closed his eyes again and prayed he was dreaming.

Dreams didn't wrap people in heavy coats.  
Dreams didn't brush their noses through people's hair and lay their large, warm palms across people's shoulders. They didn't gently grab a person's face and raise it up to them just to kiss them on the lips and rub the tips of their noses together.

"I feel so lost."

"I know, Dean."

"No."  
Dean's fingers sought out the hand that had held him and wrapped around it. He breathed like he was afraid of being heard. Quietly, shallowly, slowly.  
"I don't know what to do. Who I am. Where I'm going. What I'm doing."

The angel sat down next to him and took his glass away. Dean could hear him emptying it.  
"I cannot answer those questions. Yet you called me."

"I was lonely."

"I can see that."

Breathing.

Dean felt his body tilting until he fell against Castiel's shoulder. His head bent to rest on that, and Castiel's head tilted down towards his, finally brushing against his hair and settling there. He held Dean's hand as Dean held his. The cold was gone, warmth lingered underneath the coat and grew by the minute.

"It was an accident," he finally whispered, "I didn't mean to."  
The older's finger crossed by his thigh, leaving his skin on goosebumps and his heart racing.

"I'm happy that you did, either way."

Dean shivered.  
"So am I."  
And maybe, just maybe, he really was.


End file.
